


no one remembers that god is an eldritch creature

by GoblinQueen1221



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Implied Smut, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Rage, Rambling, discussions about doors, discussions about god from a semi-religious person, gabriel is angerey, god is a terrifying lovecraftian horror come at me, in which the author compares religion to dieting, omniscient & omnipresent beings do not look like bearded old men, only god and death are allowed to talk in all caps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22474219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoblinQueen1221/pseuds/GoblinQueen1221
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	1. Awakening

A small blue dot spins on. 

On an island where it rains far too much to be pleasant 100% of the time, two ~~occult~~ ~~ethereal~~ supernatural entities are enjoying a lovely lunch at the Ritz. Hours slink by, slow and sweet. Heat and hearts and feverpitch pulse can wait. They have time. 

The world and its inhabitants release a collectively held breath, despite not knowing - save for a small group of people - what it was for. 

Love permeates the air, and for just a moment, there is a general aura of peace across the entire planet. It does not last, as humans are a lousy wonderful bunch of idiots, but it ripples across the universe all the same. 

Elsewhere and right here, outside and inside and around the confines and unborders of the universe, a great mind stirs awake.


	2. Smiling

To call the Archangel Gabriel angry would be an understatement. 

He paces the full length of the Office, working himself up into a rage. His war cancelled, his soldiers impatient and still itching for a fight, his agent on Earth suspiciously not dead. His rage pulses under his skin, echoing loudly in his ears, drowning out the echo of his footsteps. 

There is a reason Wrath is considered a sin. 

It happens when people stoke anger into rage, then stoke their rage higher and higher, past the tipping point of reason, consuming all other feeling; only thinking of their real or imagined slights, only considering themselves in the right, only seeing the vengeance they will enact. It snakes across your bones and into your blood, replacing oxygen so that every pump of your miserable heart pushes it closer and closer to your fingertips, clenching hands good for grabbing, stabbing, ripping, punching. It overrides logic and wisdom, making the weak into soldiers and soldiers into gods, but only in your head - only ever in your head. 

It shouldn’t feel good. 

But oh, it does. 

And there the problem lies.   
Because when something feels good but can end badly, small indulgences can be dangerous. But instead of advising moderation in all things, Heaven and Hell polarize. 

This is why many religions, like diets, tend to only see the world in black and white. 

Sin and virtue. 

Worthy and worthless. 

Echoes in the dark, nonexistent without its other half. 

Meeting in the middle and blurring the lines is an entirely human thing, as their lives do not have the ~~blessing~~ ~~curse~~ option of being simple. Humans work with what they’ve got, even if it breaks a few rules. Everything in moderation, even sin. 

Unbeknownst to humanity, one angel and one demon had came up with the idea a wee bit before they did. 

Unbeknownst to _them_ , this was the plan all along. 

The fabric of reality shifts, upending the laws of physics and nudging a star to the left just a smidge, before settling back in place. If you somehow managed to completely extricate yourself from the universe, looking down or up or around the corner back at where you came from, if the microcosm truly saw the macrocosm, if you could do that without losing your eyes or mind or heart, you would have seen god smile.


	3. Pooling

There is a doorway in Heaven. 

When you think Heaven, you think gates, think locks, think not the safety of home but rather the cold, sterile, You May Not Cross This Line. 

Doors, however. 

Doors  _ go places. _ A gate keeps you out. A door lets you in. 

Most gates do not have thresholds, not really. Doors do - four sides to a portal, a here and a there. 

You can stand in a doorway; no one stands in gateways. That would be silly.

It is for this, and many other reasons, that there is a massive pair of doors at the end of a massive hallway in a dusty unused section of Heaven. A simple lock and chain keeps them closed; human metal and invention - brittle as an inflated ego to angel like Gabriel. 

His feet, his rage, carry him to god’s door like debris in a flood. Breaks the chain, pushes the doors open with both arms stretched out, momentum carrying him onto the threshold. 

Shadows pool at his feet. 

It is too bright in Heaven for shadows.


	4. Screaming

YOU HAVE KEPT ME WAITING, GABRIEL.

_When talking about religious figures, one tends to get a bit esoteric._

_It can complicate the process of description when you believe that your god is everywhere and nowhere, all seeing and all knowing and all powerful. Existing before Creation was created, predating time and space and word and form. What does such a being look like?_

_According to most western religions, an elderly white man with a beard._

_This is incorrect for many reasons, not least of all skin color._

God looks...awesome.

Awesome in the sense that they inspire awe. That they are beyond language and thought, paralyzing minds as they try to process something outside the realm of possibility.

God has too many eyes. God has an eye of every living thing in existence, which wouldn't be too horrifying until you remember the insane amount of beetles that the Earth contains.

God has too many mouths. A tongue for each sound, even some that speak sounds no lips can fathom - waves and rumbles and the screech of metal on metal. Words jarring - too loud and too soft and far away and up close - whisper in the ear like a lover, call from another room; too many voices too many sounds too many cries.

God has too much skin. Nebulae flow over curves, skin dripping darkness across limbs too numerous and twisted to be identifiable. God is large and heavy and immaterial.

God has too much knowledge. They peer into your eyes and see your soul. See the hangnail that you are hesitating to pull lest it rip the skin, see the way you covet when you should not, see the intrusive thoughts that slide across your brain like scum on an abandoned fountain. They see your future, your mind and body crumbling into itself, becoming more and more aware of how much your body is tied to the physical and how little it would take to snip the thread. There is a difference between knowing and Knowing everything about you - your successes and failures and thoughts and actions - knowing how your bones creak and how blood pumps and how easy it would be to snuff you out.

A Knowing rearing up above and around you, so complete that you cannot hide.

They say that because god loves you it is okay. But can it ever be okay when one entity in a relationship has infinitely more power than you do? How can that be fair? How can that be love?

God is too much and too many and overwhelming and everywhere and Gabriel screams and screams and screams.

And stops.

There is nothingness. 

I HAVE BEEN AWAY FOR TOO LONG, IF YOU FORGOT WHAT TALKING TO ME IS LIKE.

"What did you do? What did you do to me? What did you do to my suit?!"

I HAVE SUBSUMED YOU FOR NOW.

A small violet eye blinks open on one of their many hands.

I MUST TALK, AND YOU MUST LISTEN, GABRIEL. I CANNOT HAVE YOU SCREAMING.

ALL SYSTEMS REQUIRE BALANCE. YOU ANGELS LACKED BALANCE, SO I ACTED. THESE ACTIONS CAUSED PAIN, BUT IT WAS NEGLIGIBLE TO THE GREATER WHOLE.

ONE DOES NOT CRY FOR THE BLOOD CELLS LOST DUE TO A PAPER CUT.

BUT EVEN THE SMALLEST OF BEINGS CAN INFLUENCE THE WHOLE. A MUTATION IN REPLICATION CAUSES CANCER - MERELY A SMALL ERROR IN THE CODE, AND LEFT UNTREATED RUNS RAMPANT.

YOU WERE NOT MEANT TO TRY TO CHANGE THE BALANCE, GABRIEL. IN TRYING TO UPEND THE BALANCE, YOU WERE TRYING TO HURT THE SYSTEM, AND IN HURTING THE SYSTEM, YOU HURT ME.

FOR I AM THE GOD AND THE SYSTEM.

INSIDE AND OUTSIDE, CREATOR AND CREATED.

YOU ARE NOT JUST YOURSELF, YOU ARE ALSO ME.

WE ARE NOT SEPARATE. YOU MAY HAVE BEEN THE FIRST CELLS TO BE CREATED, BUT THAT IS ALL YOU ARE. SMALL. INSIGNIFICANT OUTSIDE THE GREATER WHOLE.

BUT ALL THAT YOU ARE IS ALSO ME, AND IN THAT YOU ARE EVERYTHING. BUT YOU CANNOT SEE THIS FROM WHERE YOU ARE. YOU DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH EYES.

PERHAPS A CHANGE IN PERSPECTIVE IS IN ORDER.

God smiles. It is terrific. 

_In the sense that it inspires terror._


End file.
